


What You Want

by Eleos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Hanging Stockings, Hermione's Holiday Hideaway 2020, New Orleans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleos/pseuds/Eleos
Summary: Percy can't stand the thought of spending another Christmas at the Burrow, pretending everything is all right. He plans to spend the holidays alone, across the Atlantic Ocean. But then Hermione Granger shows up in New Orleans, suitcase in tow, determined to bring Percy some holiday cheer. And they both learn a lot about what they want this Christmas...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Percy Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Hermione's Holiday Hideaway 2020





	What You Want

_**PERCY** _

Percy supposed he’d asked for this.

During his tenure at the Ministry, he’d made it abundantly clear that he was career-focused. Driven. Willing to put his job before his family...even when he really wished he hadn’t.

Of course, Richards had sent him across the bloody Atlantic Ocean on a _6-month_ assignment as a liaison to the Magical Congress of the United States.

Percy took a delicate bite of his beignet, a puff of powdered sugar settling onto his button-down. _It’s just as well I’m halfway across the world_. _Gives me a good reason to stay here for the holidays._

Groups of tourists chattered loudly, packed in tightly at small tables underneath the green tarp of Cafe Du Monde. He was supposed to be meeting Andrew Stebbins, a representative from Gringotts’ American branch, to—hopefully—secure a loan to close the deal on that new British-American Portkey station in New Orleans. But he’d canceled this morning, asking if they could reschedule for the new year.

Percy pulled at the collar of his shirt, fanning himself as politely as he could in the damp Louisiana heat. No, this was better than spending Christmas at the Burrow. Between the dead expression in George’s eyes, Ron’s forced jokes, and Ginny’s drinking, it was better to be somewhere with no connections.

Plus, it would give him more time to look over the contracts Stebbins had sent over. If he made this deal, he might be in line for a promotion to Assistant Head of the Transportation at the Ministry. _That_ was what he wanted.

“You, Percy Weasley, are extremely hard to find.”

“What—"

Hermione Granger pulled out the metal chair across from him, sitting down and rolling up the sleeves of her lilac Weasley Christmas sweater. “It took me ages to track you down. All I could get out of your mother was the address for the American Magic Transportation Office in New Orleans and that she thought you lived on a ‘street with a lot of trees.’” She snorted. "I eventually had to resort to modifying a spell to locate one's keys, of all things, and that was a tricky bit of magic to tie in a biological signature."

Percy dropped his pastry in a cloud of sugar. “Hermione. You’re here.” His brother’s ex-girlfriend. His good friend. The very frustrated-looking woman whose owls he had been ignoring for the better part of a year.

“Traditionally, at this point, one might say, ‘Hello, Hermione. It’s nice to see you.’ Or at least offer me one of those beignets.”

“Er, hello, Hermione. It’s nice to see you. But...why are you here? It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Exactly!" Hermione said. "I came to rescue you from your own misery.” At his raised eyebrow, Hermione rummaged through her beaded purse, pulling out two international Portkey permits. “Your family needs you, Percy. And it’s ridiculous not to come home for Christmas.”

* * *

_**HERMIONE** _

Two hours later, Hermione sat in Percy’s flat, a serviceable studio with a partition dividing what she presumed was his “bedroom” from the kitchen/living room/dining area. Stacks of books were neatly piled on his kitchen table, next to a single poinsettia. She sipped her Earl Gray while curled up on his sofa, watching him fidget in the armchair across the room. She noted with satisfaction that he’d remembered she took her tea with just a bit of lemon.

“You really won’t come to the Burrow tomorrow?” she asked.

“No, though I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Is it…” She bit her lip. “This may sound presumptuous, but it’s nothing to do with me, right?” Flashes of last Christmas Eve rose to the front of her mind. An evening giggling in the corner of a pub after they’d both been working too late at the Ministry, touching his shoulder as she sipped on too much champagne, talking about their families and their future plans...

“No, no—of course not.”

“It’s...it’s okay if you don’t want to. If you’d rather forget it happened,” she said carefully. “But your family needs you. Especially during the holidays. You should all be together.”

“And where will you be?”

“Well, I’ll probably stop by for an hour or so, say hello to your mum, and Harry and Ginny.”

“You won’t be with your own parents.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Things are still tense between us,” she admitted. None of her other friends had asked, assuming she and her parents were celebrating Christmas morning together, opening their stockings in front of the fire as usual. But ever since she’d restored their memories a year and a half ago, they’d chilled to her. She couldn’t blame them.

“I’m sorry.”

“I get it. I meddled with their minds, and I didn’t ask their permission. I kept a lot of things from them… I’m not going to be spending the holidays with them for a while, I think.”

“It'll get better, Hermione," he said. "I promise. But, surely you see the hypocrisy in you coming here to drag me home to my own family?” He shook his head. “It’s too much right now. Last year, without Fred there, it was excruciating. I’d just like to pass this holiday alone and move on. I’ll visit mum and dad in January.”

“The difference is that your family _wants_ you. They love you and miss you, Percy.” She smiled sadly. “I miss you too.”

His face softened. “And I miss you. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your owls. I wasn’t sure how to react after…”

“After we had sex last Christmas?”

Percy coughed. “Well, I wasn’t going to say it. I know you had just broken up with Ron, and it was irresponsible of me.”

“Surely any irresponsibility falls equally on both of us," she said. “We can address it or forget that it happened, Percy. But let's not assign blame where it's not warranted.”

He held her gaze, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She grinned. “Now, I figured you might be stubborn, so I brought Christmas decorations.” 

“I’ve already decorated.”

Hermione rolled her suitcase over from the door. “You’ve put a poinsettia on your kitchen table. One potted plant. That’s hardly decorating. Your mother would be beside herself.” She unzipped her bag, pulling out a rolled-up string of white lights, a small bit of garland, and two stockings. 

“You brought a stocking for yourself," he noted.

“Naturally. I’m obviously spending Christmas here with you.”

“Oh, er, obviously.”

“Well, we’ve established I’m not spending the holidays with my own family, though not by choice. And since you are being so pig-headed about isolating yourself from your own family, which is frankly ridiculous—”

“I disagree.”

“You would.” Grabbing the stockings, she identified an empty space along the wall across from the sofa. With a few muttered spells and a swish of her wand, one of the red fuzzy stockings flew onto the wall and stuck there.

“You should spend the holiday with people who care about you,” Hermione said. “And since you won’t be with your family, who need you as much as you need them, you can spend it with me.”

She could feel Percy’s gaze on her, her cheeks heating up. She stared at the stocking, pretend to adjust its position. “Perfect,” she said. “Now you.”

Percy was still staring at her when she turned to face him. He swallowed hard, looking like he was going to say something, but shook his head, stood up, and picked up the other stocking. “I don’t have a fireplace or even a staircase. You can’t hang stockings on a blank wall.”

“Of course you can. My family always did.”

“You know, if you look back at the origin story for hanging stockings, this is kind of a sexist tradition,” Percy said, though he obligingly hung his own stocking.

“Excuse me?”

“It's true. Legend has it, Old Saint Nicholas was wandering through a village near Christmastime, and he met a poor family who was down on their luck—a recently widowed father with three daughters and no money for dowries to marry them off. Without wealth, they had no prospects.”

“Hmph. Of course, they couldn’t work to support _themselves_.”

“As I said, the origin story occurs in a patriarchal context.” Percy sat down on the sofa, admiring his handiwork. “Saint Nicholas felt sorry for the family, so in the middle of the night, he crept into their home—”

“Creepy.”

“—and left the girls money for their dowries, leaving the gold pieces in the stockings they’d washed that day and hung to dry by the fire.”

“Well, that was kind, at least, though it still strikes me as a bit condescending,” Hermione said, settling onto the sofa as well. “Do you think the legend came before the tradition, or after?” Their hands were almost touching, resting on the cushion between them as they looked at their stockings on the wall.

“Who knows?” 

“It was...well, _is_...my dad’s favorite tradition,” Hermione said. She took a deep breath. “Every year, the first weekend in December, he’d wake me up, and we’d make hot cocoa and play Christmas songs and hang our stockings on the wall. They were the first decorations we’d put up each year."

"Why was that his favorite?" Percy asked, his hand slipping closer.

"He said, ‘If you want anything in life, you have to ask for it.'” She smiled sadly. “'And if we want Santa to bring us gifts, we need to give him a clear signal that we’re ready.'”

"I'm pretty sure 'Santa' would have come anyway. I can't see him denying you anything."

"I think my dad was trying to teach me a life lesson. To, I don't know, find out what you want, and then don't just hope that it will happen. Don't just wish for it." Her fingers brushed his, and she felt a jolly of nervous energy shoot through her. "Go out and ask for it. Make your wish come true...holiday or otherwise."

"That's wise."

"He was. Or, is."

“I’m sorry,” Percy said. “I know they’ll come around. They care about you.”

“I hope so.” Hermione sniffled and pulled her hand away. “But enough of that. Now, I hear they do Christmas Eve bonfires on the levee?”

* * *

_**HERMIONE** _

“Are you drunk?”

“No, just happy,” Hermione said, snuggling into Percy’s chest as huddled on the grass, watching the towering wooden pyramid burn, flames licking up into the sky. The boom of a firework caused Percy to start, and they both started laughing again.

They’d apparated out to St. James Parish, devoured a bowl of hot gumbo (“How have I missed this all my life?” Hermione moaned), and spent the last several hours watching the bonfire grow higher and the vibrant fireworks loudly welcoming Papa Noël.

“I think we can agree,” he said, craning his neck to look down at her, “that this is pretty incredible. And loud." Another boom. "I've missed this. Doing things with you.”

“Does this mean you’re finally going to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me for months?” Hermione asked, pulling her head back to get a better look. “Because, honestly, you were a good friend and my go-to lunch date, and I don't want to give that up. Also, with you gone, I’ve had to resort to asking _Ginny_ to go with me to the British Museum.” 

Percy shuddered. “How many rooms did it take her to get bored? Four?”

“Three.”

“I am sorry about that, you know. After last Christmas Eve, I just, I felt responsible for making a poor decision.” He swallowed. “I assumed you’d regretted it, and I didn’t know how to explain myself.”

“You didn’t need to explain yourself. We were both there when it happened.”

“I know that. But then you sent an owl saying we should put it behind us, forget it ever happened. That it meant nothing.” His words held a bitter edge, and Hermione winced at the unfortunate phrasing she’d used. No wonder he hadn’t written back.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Hermione said. “You were ignoring my owls and Floo calls. I just assumed you were afraid I’d gotten the wrong idea, that I'd read into it too much, and you were trying to let me down easy.

“I needed time to think. And you had just broken up with Ron.”

Red and green sparks filled the night sky, smoke trailing behind as the crowd around them cheered.

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Percy. Did you…did you think it was a rebound shag for me?”

He averted his eyes, “I didn’t know what to believe. Maybe.” 

Hermione grabbed his chin, gently pulling his face so he was looking at her. She could see the reflection of the towering flames in his blue eyes, fidgeting as he struggled not to look away.

“It’s okay if it was," he stammered. "We can move past it. I know we’ve never been...and with my brother. I just didn’t want to be a...a replacement.”

“A replacement?”

“For who you really wanted to be with.”

“Percy Ignatius Weasley,” Hermione said. “I promise you that you have never been a replacement for anyone. Ron and I broke up after barely two months of dating because he’s _not_ who I want. Because…” She took a shaky breath, unable to believe she was admitting to this. “Because even then, with him, I knew I couldn’t love him. Because I already wanted someone else. But I was too afraid to ask him if he wanted me too."

“Who?”

She lightly smacked his shoulder. “You got nine N.E.W.T.s, Percy. Don’t play dumb. Of course, it was you.”

“Hermione,” he said, and somehow he'd gotten closer, his mouth inches from hers. “The stockings may be back at my flat, but I’m ready to ask for what I want.”

And then he kissed her. Her hands moved to wrap around the back of his neck and his hair, remembering how his warm, hard chest felt against hers. Percy groaned, his hand on her lower back, creeping up the hem of her Weasley sweater. He smelled like cinnamon and cloves, and whatever this cologne was, Hermione wanted to bathe in it, preferably wrapped around this man.

All year, she'd had so little to go on, and only passing, stilted conversation in the Ministry hallway, before his American assignment took him away. All that wasted time rationalizing to herself, going on bad dates, wondering if he was feeling just as confused as she was. All of that turmoil culminating here, halfway across the world, as she kissed him and he kissed her.

Fireworks crackled above them, raining sparks and smoke, people were yelling and laughing and singing, and someone was playing EDM Christmas remixes on a portable speaker nearby. It was cacophonous, bright, and utterly chaotic. 

It was exactly what she wanted.

* * *

_**PERCY** _

Percy held the mug of coffee in his hands, nervously watching Hermione fidget in her sleep across the room. Hermione moaned, pulling the comforter around her, eyes slowly opening. It'd taken all his willpower to pull himself from those sheets this morning, from her warm body beside him. But it was Christmas, and he finally knew what he wanted.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Percy said. “I thought you might need some caffeine. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Hermione said, yawning. “No regrets?”

“None whatsoever.” He smiled, setting the coffee down on his nightstand so he could sit beside her. “Or, only that we haven’t been doing that all year long.”

Hermione chuckled. “Well, we can both agree that we regret that. One that we should remedy in the new year."

“But seriously, Hermione, I’m ready to ask for what I want.”

“Me too,” she said. “It’s been so stupid, dancing around each other this year. But you’re what I want, Percy.”

“As are you.” He clasped her hand in his. “And, speaking of asking for what you want...Santa must’ve heard the call of your stockings.”

“Oh, really?”

“You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

Percy watched as Hermione wrenched herself out of bed, wrapped in only a blanket, before sauntering into the main room to see both their stockings full of sweets...and two slips of paper.

“The Portkey permits?” she asked. “Does that mean—"

“Yes. I thought, well, maybe we could have Christmas dinner at the Burrow tonight. Everyone together.” He shrugged, hoping he was coming off as smoothly as he'd planned. _Breathe, Percy._ “I’ve really enjoyed spending Christmas Eve with you, but I think we both know I’ve been denying myself what both my family and I need. And...you did come all the way out here to ask me to come home.”

Hermione kissed him. “I think your mum will be thrilled. Your dad and brothers and Ginny too.”

"Be honest. When you came out here yesterday, did you know I’d cave and come home?”

“I wasn’t sure, but…” She pulled her stocking off the wall, hugging it to her chest. “I did ask Santa for what I wanted."

_So did I,_ he thought, and kissed her again.  
  



End file.
